


Hamartia

by minium



Series: a thread undone, a match unmade [2]
Category: Natsume Yuujinchou | Natsume's Book of Friends, ノラガミ | Noragami (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Angst, Atmospheric, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Manga Characterization of Natsume, Non-Linear Narrative
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:13:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21695965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minium/pseuds/minium
Summary: “That one irreplaceable someone?I wish... I had one.”
Relationships: Natsume Takashi/Yato (Noragami)
Series: a thread undone, a match unmade [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1457902
Comments: 12
Kudos: 94





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that this is a direct continuation of the preceding oneshot. While you don’t need to read the previous entry to understand this fic, I highly recommend doing so.

As if waking from a long dream, he struggled to lift heavy lids.

And the first thing he saw—

the most arresting,

the most shocking

shade of

_blue._

_You, who’ve nowhere to go, _

Distantly, white flakes slowly fell upon his frozen figure, yet the ever-present chill fled before he could notice a departure; in its wake, trailing in, was a warmth unknown.

“Here.”

Blinking sluggishly, he moved his gaze downward to see— held out in open hand— glancing up quickly, he parted lips, hesitating once before ultimately asking, “I can have this?

“You’re giving it to _me_?”

Furrowing brows together, the stranger regarded him for a long moment.

In the span of his silence, disappointment had time to gather and mount. He prepared himself for inevitable rejection.

_But that wasn’t what came._

“It’s yours. Take it.”

_I’ll give you a place to stay._

With the jacket hanging around his shoulders, he could feel the way warmth gradually started returning to his cheeks. He chanced a fleeting smile.

The stranger didn’t smile back. His expression didn’t change at all. It remained— _frozen_. “My name is Yato.”

Instinctively, he moved to respond in turn before pausing—

_What was his name?_

Who…

_Who was he?_

_Lingering, clinging thine true name, I make thou mine servant with thine alias…_

_thy name is Fuyu…_

_vessel, Tou._

_Obey mine order and become Shinki._

And he heard, and he saw— _nothing_. Innocent eyes stared into his own— in a vice-grip, fear seized his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, indeed, it… 
> 
> _lives~_
> 
> Many months passed between the originating fic and now— months spent waiting for— don’t know what, don’t know what— before I was suddenly struck with the plot of this fic (literally just yesterday hA). 
> 
> _Are y’all ready for this?_
> 
> * * *
> 
> **Last Updated:** August 19th, 2020.


	2. Chapter 2

Carrying quiet whispers, the wind swayed with him. Even though it shouldn’t have been felt; somehow, pestering him, brushing against his cheeks: an almost imperceptible chill. And he knew he could reach out, but he also knew it would inevitably twirl away (always just out of reach). Still, like a fool, drifting to chase that ever-fleeting—

As if a complaint on his diverted attention, a low moan escaped his new ‘companion.’ Turning his head to the side, eyeing that curled form from his position, Fuyune’s expression hid from him. _Yet._ Yet the furrow resting on his brow was only too clear. Previously even, the cadence of breath now held broken in keening gasps. Sharply, with a near-forgotten nostalgia— felt but never tasted— in a painful lurch, tumbling over was that resounding beat inside his _own_ chest.

Dropping his hand down to grip sensation— it wouldn’t quiet, wouldn’t _stop_ — the only thing he had on offer: the lingering warmth holding stiff twitching fingers. Tightly shutting his eyes, gathering the tatters of courage, he swallowed down apprehension— every painful thing diving overhead standing unheeded, unneeded. Slowly— he wouldn’t look, couldn’t stop; moving from its fisted position gripping his thigh, fingers loosening, hand unclenching, he moved towards him. Careful not to disturb rest, it seemed to take an entire age before destination reached, but— inevitable, this end was always _inevitable._

Descending on soft strands, in shock, he paused for the longest moment (caution would always win in a heart so weeded). Yet marvel and mounting confusion at how quickly that uncomfortable, yearning sensation eased, overtook entirely. Confidence growing, he threaded his fingers within that silvery softness.

Yato opened his eyes. Breathing freely now, he darted his gaze down to see that frame only before seen stiff and tense relaxing minutely more and more underneath his hands.

And he—

_just didn’t understand what this was._

And yet, brushing a careful thumb over that brow, softening the furrow it held, he sighed. The wind tickled his cheek, seemingly in commiseration.

Fleetingly, he curled his lips.

A yawn sounding behind, breaking the quiet serenity of early hour, Yato turned his gaze to see his ward— the rumpled teenager staring back with eyes holding half-mast. Mumbling something resembling a greeting, speech didn’t progress far before being interrupted with yet another yawn. Yato stood silently— almost distant in his watch of this scene owed, an intimacy that seemed entirely unearned— sick with unease he didn’t have a name for, eyeing the dark smudges underneath Fuyune’s eyes all the while.

But the stand-off couldn’t persist forever, indistinct mumbling tumbling into confusion, his shinki parted his lips—

Hidden inside the pockets of his tracksuit, shaking hands, twitching fingers bit into palms with greater intensity— impending questions (and any answers he could offer— of which, he had none, none, _none_ ).

With all the brightness he could muster, he cut in first, “You sure slept in! Though that’s not _so_ surprising considering it’s your first day.”

“First day?”

That furrow on his brow, _again_ , he— ringing stole attention. Yato only too eager to dive for his phone; turned his back on the boy, flipping it open, resting it against his ear. “Delivery God Yato at your service!”

Faintly, he heard his shinki echo in confusion, “Delivery God?” before realizing that in his distraction he had inadvertently missed the caller’s request. With his smile straining further, smoothing back his hair, he apologetically asked his customer to repeat herself.

“Would you two like any drinks? I really am sorry about all of this…” the old woman’s world trailed off, surveying the yard with wide eyes. Where before: only endless white, endless cold— now: you could see the earth beneath feet. “You two have done all this much already? Oh my… now I really am in your debt… such hardworking young men… surely five yen is too little…”

At the sight of her wringing hands, Yato interrupted, “It’s really no problem to concern yourself over, Miss!”

“Oh, nonsense.” Her fluttering hand batted away assurances.

Licking his lips, he averted his gaze. Eyes landing on what she had set down, he murmured to himself, “Drinks?”

“Excuse me, dear?”

Crossing his arms, he sent her his best smile, “Those drinks you brought along. Plus the initial payment. That’s more than enough for us.”

“Oh, well, would you—”

“You have a beautiful garden.” A voice they’d both forgotten. Without consent, surprise lit — shivering in the static, he couldn’t help tension flaring, ricocheting up his spine.

Yet contrary to Yato’s unease, the woman didn’t miss a beat. “Oh, surely not. In this season, all the flowers are in hiding and there was only a modest offering in the first place,” she protested, waving off the notion.

Haltingly, Yato turned. Leaning his chin into gloved hands, Fuyune’s gaze held steady on that large oak taking residence, dwarfing most of the property.

As if sensing his gaze, Fuyune turned as well, but full-face remained just frustratingly out of sight, only that smile he never knew the meaning of was clear as day. “Do you know how old this is?”

“Oh, this one! Hmm… I believe it was my father who planted it. If I’m recalling correctly, it was sometime when I was quite young.”

“Is that so?” Fuyune gripped his knees for a moment before rising fully. Slowly, he made his way over to them, lips curled, _still holding that gentled smile_. And under such an expression, the woman didn’t hesitate to begin regaling Fuyune with tales of her younger days, all of which he listened to with an intent expression.

Yato’s lips twisted.

_What was this?_

Fuyune didn’t turn his way again. Curiosity caught, he ambled his way to the space his shinki departed. No one called back to his retreating back, and quickly, he was staring before it, in the same space, with the same gaze. Somehow, he doubted that would help understanding.

With one glance, he could tell: it was indeed quite old. Eyes roaming up and down the long barrel of the tall oak, he took it in— slowly, then all at once. Stretching out his arms and the trunk stretched to meet them. Branches unfurling wildly outward— even without the presence of leaves, it couldn’t be denied— the firmed, steady presence sat above and before.

Cautiously, he came ever closer, yet no oddness struck out still. And something in him knew. Yato _knew_. Inside him, echoing louder the more he neared.

There had to be _something_.

Anything.

Not even a minute passing before a branch turned, breaking off, falling to his feet. He didn’t even have to reach out to find it; instead, it seemed a giant beacon, a sign flashing, beckoning him, ‘Come closer, listen for a spell.’ Staring down at it with hand still extended, he— did his best to— and maybe if there weren’t already this tumult barely swallowed back, he could have turned away, could have ignored this, writ this off as only but coincidence. But the same fool never struck twice lest he lead himself by his _own_ nose.

(Even he wasn’t that much of a fool).

Firmly closing his eyes, Yato released one long, shuddering breath. Turning around, he crossed his arms, leaning back-to-back against the bark. One view held all attention: the atmosphere between Fuyune and the old woman held nothing but warmth; even from where he stood, he could tell that much. Fuyune murmured something indistinct and laughter cut the air. Yato’s arms tightened. He grit his teeth. But he refused to divert his gaze; determined not to miss as much as a second.

He couldn’t afford to after all.

So. He simply _watched_.

“Please don’t trouble yourself,” replied Fuyune immediately.

“Oh, nonsense. It’s the least I can do.” Turning to regard the both of them now, she continued in that same cheery tone, “I’ll be right back with dinner!” And with that parting remark, they were left alone.

Only before lurking underneath the bright presence of the other woman, this awkward atmosphere was finally allowed to flow unimpeded. And under that air, there was nothing more to be said.

‘Not that anything was said in the first place,’ Yato thought while smiling to himself, bittered and worn.

Silver eyes turned directly into his.

Dropping the beer from his lips, he set it down, a clank loudly resounding in the silence. Leaning his head into his now open palm, he scrutinized the unknown sitting in front of him.

In an odd symmetry they stayed for a time; until finally, Fuyune dropped his eyes.

Yato didn’t know what he was thinking.

Yato didn’t know _anything._

“Do you hate me?” the boy asked, words hesitant, yet firm, tone neutral. The words came in time with a clenching of his heart.

As if the air had suddenly thinned, sulfur invaded, lungs aflame in mere moments. And instead of looking at him with an expectant gaze, waiting for the answer Yato didn’t know how to voice, Fuyune darted his head to the side of Yato’s head. The god didn’t hesitate to follow his gaze. The oppressive sensation lessened, yet all he could see was the blank expanse of a wall. About to give voice to confusion—

but no, no, no.

It was almost too late.

Breath caught in his throat. For a moment, horror stopped the pump of blood rushing his veins— he didn’t dare breathe, and he didn’t see a thing— but he knew.

Whispering into his ears, _‘Smells good.’_

_And the moment of stillness passed._

_And instinct held him in its grasp._

_He fell gladly, heedlessly into the comforting grasp of what was familiar, the only thing that had ever been simple._

“Come!

_“Touki!_ ”

With brilliant light, heeding to him, a pair of swords materialized into grasp. Jumping to his feet— he expected confusion. He expected questions. Instead, he received only steadiness.

There was no time. He ran, shinki firmly in grasp.

Even without looking, the gaze of countless eyes— buzzing, zipping, skipping along his skin— with the woman dangling in the ayakashi’s grip, all consequence turned to ash. As he charged forward— his heart thumping, beating wildly in its cradle— and without hesitation, without breaking stride, he abruptly dived to the side. The hit— meant for him— rebounded off the kitchen counters. Mentally, he apologized; nothing but a pest even when it wasn’t meant (that’s all he ever was and would be).

Rushing overhead, air ran down his side— grasping a handle harshly with his teeth, one hand touching that head, his other arm was a blur of motion. And he turned over, the loss under him the aim he had reached for, but ultimately it wasn’t what he had wanted.

‘Fuyune. Why did you dull your blade?’

They hadn’t struck a thing. Yato’s gaze met another— one he’d never understand, one he’d never been meant to. It wasn’t reassuring how he couldn’t feel anything from his shinki’s end. Another blow glanced over-head, but all he could hear was the stutter striking, hurtling his heart aways, a bleeding edge coming from nowhere.

Quickly scanning the area, he dived behind the first cover found. Even with chaos reigning behind him— Yato chewed his lip. He knew. He _knew_ they didn’t have time for this. And yet. He closed his eyes, releasing it— all expectation, all pressure; Yato unwound, tension loosening out of his frame.

And he wasn’t alone. He could tell. He could _always_ tell.

Setting the dual swords gently into place on-top his lap, he traced a firm finger from tip to stem. Bringing it up to eye-level, he didn’t hesitate to look his fill, _truly seeing his shinki for the first time_. And through it all, there wasn’t so much as a huff. That shine hadn’t dulled at all. And he didn’t know what he had expected.

‘Talk to me.’

And with the lack of reaction, he took a shuddering breath in, holding, and releasing in time with the thrumming of still rabbiting pulse.

A soft, pleading, _‘Please.’_

And there was pain.

And for a brief moment— _something_. Whispering, twining around his thoughts was something indistinct and unknown, but somehow— _achingly_ familiar.

Yato opened his eyes. And this time, he didn’t doubt a thing. Lifting his gaze, the ayakashi hovered over his prone form. He didn’t twitch. He didn’t even so much as _breathe_. With instinct leading, he rolled to the side, blow coming down where he had been but a moment before.

‘Fuyune, let’s go.’

He shouldn’t have been so sure. But he couldn’t help that outreached hand. Warmth bleeding outwardly, the answering call shocked his figure into stillness. A trembling, almost fragile smile bloomed true on his face.

‘Okay. _Okay._ ’

Again, he rushed straight through; but this time, nothing impeded intention. Calling the warmth, having it materialize into his palm, he ran the same finger down the length of Fuyune— light coalesced _so sweetly._

_You, who would desecrate this land of rising sun._

_With my advent, I, the **Yato** god, _

_lay waste with the **Touki**... _

_and expel thy vast defilement!_

**Rend.**

Warmth.

Yato— painfully aware of every point of skin touching skin, the unfamiliar head resting in the crook of his neck— the more Fuyune slumped into him, the stiffer his figure became.

“Did I do well?”

He looked down; and of course, he couldn’t see his shinki’s expression still; but the hands curling, then fisting into the back of his jacket the longer his pause kept on were only too revealing.

His heart wasn’t still.

It wasn’t still _at all._

Fuyune’s head moved slightly. Under that undemanding gaze, Yato finally unfroze, hands coming up to hold up that faintly trembling back.

“You did well.”

“I just…” Fuyune’s eyelids fluttered, “...didn’t want to be a burden to you,” and then closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Last Updated:** August 19th, 2020.


	3. Chapter 3

As if taunting him, dawn broke, horizon reigning ever-shifting before his eyes. And still, he hadn’t moved.

After all, how could he have?

_It was all his fault._

“Yato.”

Letting his shoulder sway with the push, he rocked into _it_. Not answering any of her pleas, his head only lowered further. How much more of a burden could he bear to be? He knew what she wanted to say. And she knew how keenly he didn’t want to hear it.

But still, she insisted. “Yato.”

And on silence, still, he insisted.

In this stalemate, the day ran long.

“Don’t bother, my lady.”

“But Dai-chan—”

“Come on, the kid’s awake. We—”

Eyes widening, Yato stood up in a flash, facing him fully. “He’s awake,” he breathed out, faintly disbelieving.

For a minute, Daikoku eyed him speculatively— for hours, he knew, he knew, _oh_ , how keenly he _knew_ — before sighing, nodding his head.

Yato didn’t wait for him to finish.

Even with this distance in-between, why was he still so aware, _so attuned to his every move?_ Yato couldn’t escape from this. Not for the first time, he cursed whatever whim had grasped his heart. Leaving him in this puzzle in the first place was that one single, baffling moment. Even now, even now, all wanted— to walk those long steps and make his way to him, but suspicion held his frame.

Caution had led him this far, and he wouldn’t go back on the notion of— when he knew that this wasn’t right. Everything strange. What he should have gained— what he should have _known._

Everything tired, he hadn’t wanted this— this mire he couldn’t put a name to. And why was it always him? Only him?

And his heart swayed in his chest. Grasping it, he couldn’t help the look— a hunched figure with an upturned palm raised high.

“What are you doing?”

Clearly startled, Fuyune shook once, fully turning to him with widened gaze. Fleetingly, regret shook, but he brushed it aside, raising one singular brow in further question.

“I think,” Fuyune started, then paused.

“You think?” Yato repeated, crossing his arms.

And it was sudden, inexplicable— the minute flash of his shinki’s eyes, the heat burning in Yato’s ribs almost as if— It left in a minute, but that moment— how could it have been hallucination? He felt it so _ardently_.

“It’s drizzling now and the skies look like a warning.” The words were firm, almost challenging, but he was still _smiling_ — that same, ever-present quirk of the lips that Yato had grown to _hate_.

And the way he felt before— he knew; it was all real.

And this face, this person in front of him now— everything seemed a mockery.

Swallowing down sourness, he knew how it’d twine uselessly into words— pressing his lips firmly together, he simply shrugged, gesturing to the shrine. And this time, Fuyune couldn’t hide his dismay. It was definitely not right— the way it surged, rushed in his veins, that _feeling_ , like something akin to victory.

The nearer he came, the more coals raked over stung skin. So overought, almost painful— yet somehow, lessening in waves, always before it reached that threshold— it receded. Yato breathed it in, believing more that chasing wasn’t his gain, but doing so anyway.

The light shone over-head, lighting on _him_ , first. Yato couldn’t help his gasp. Sight suspended— wind curling, twining through his hair, the soft spread of lashes on the eves of his reddened cheeks— the light shone brighter, and silver _shined_ in illumination.

Yet boring holes into the blankets piled on-top, knuckles turning white, he wouldn’t meet Yato’s eyes.

Yato didn’t like that.

And the most inexplicable words passed through those bitten lips, “I apologize. This is my fault entirely.”

_Yato didn’t like that at all._

For a moment, bafflement halted all thought. But all at once, he crashed back unto earth at the blooming uncertainty, the _fear_ taking root in those swimming eyes.

Yato wanted to shake him. “Don’t you get it? I’m the one responsible for you.”

“You don’t have to be responsible for anything to have to do with me. You have been more than generous with the time and help you—”

“I have _not_.” His harsh tone made the other boy jump, and finally, those hands had unclenched; and Yato had— _Yato finally had his attention._ Staring directly into those moon-lit eyes, he made his declaration— the one he should have made long before now, “I feel you right here. All the time.”

“Yato…”

He didn’t stop the stream of words finally forcing themselves out of his rotted over, shriveled heart. “Your feelings. It. _I_ — Everything beats.” He paused, clenching his hand over his chest, patting his heart, closing his eyes, once, at the answering _thump_ , “I listen. I’m always listening. Always right by your side is where I always _am_. So please… when you want to scream, scream. If you want to cry, bawl your heart out. But the way we’ve been, you, this…

“I can’t handle this.” And he couldn’t. The way it tore at him, breaking him into pieces even he didn’t recognize. Words spit out of desperate lips. And for once, he didn’t regret a thing. For he saw the light reflected in his eyes too. A single ray shining down on his hand still retaining tension.

And _he_ wasn’t alone. Yato reached out, chasing away the cold, covering them entirely.

And Yato wasn’t alone. Fuyune didn’t drop his eyes; squeezed once, tightening the grasp holding them both.

“We can handle this,” Yato breathed out—

_realization blooming._

Eyes widening, neither of them looked away.

And for once, finally something— something

_connected._

**Author's Note:**

> Catch me at:  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/o_minium)  
> [Tumblr](https://o-minium.tumblr.com/)  
> @.@


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